


Portrait

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, M/M, and no one ever painted the pevensies, eustace is observant, so guess who rolls up his sleeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 23:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: When the war ends, and the whole world erupts in joy around him, Eustace counts his money and buys a canvas and paint. “There are no paintings of them“, Reepicheep said, “only the Gentle Queen has a portrait and it has been lost for generations.“





	Portrait

_Lucy smells like seawater, like that first breath of air you draw when spring has come, finally, after 100 years of ice and cold.  
_

_Edmund smells like the bark of the larches growing around Lantern Waste, like regret and blood on your lips, smells like wiping it off and facing the world._

_Susan smells like a field of flowers, like smiling in the face of a war, like clutching her siblings to her chest, like watching the world bloom into lethal beauty._

_Peter smells like freshly pressed paper, like the clean canvas of a new rule and a new smile, wandless and crowned by the Lion._

 

* * *

 

 

After the painting spit them out again and Eustace could almost taste the pain on his cousins’ faces, he ripped out the pages of his journal he’d already filled and started writing anew. Like before Narnia, it’s mostly observations, but this time, he looks at his family and documents what he sees, what he smells. Reepicheep told him about them, and their rule, how they are more legends than they are people, in this world, told him about the kings and queens of old and who they were, to each other and to the land.

So he takes notes, writes down what he sees; like Lucy’s bare feet, Edmund’s crooked smile, the curvature of Susan’s neck, how Peter runs his hand over his chin sometimes, Lucy’s head on either of her brothers’ shoulders, all their hands braiding Susan’s hair, Peter’s kisses on their foreheads. (Edmund’s breath on his schoolmates’ necks, the way his hands linger on their hips). He takes pictures, too, afraid he won’t remember their faces anymore, or the love lingering in their skin, sketches the things he can’t photograph when his mother takes his camera away.

And when the war ends, and the whole world erupts in joy around him, he counts his money and buys a canvas and paint. “There are no paintings of them“, Reepicheep said, “only the Gentle Queen has a portrait and it has been lost for generations.“ It, and the groceries he picks up for his mother, cost him all the money he has and he drags it all up into his room and starts sketching, his notes spread out in front of him.

Susan and her dark hair falling to her feet, Edmund’s lithe figure in a flowing shirt, Lucy’s laugh, her hair braided and secure, her feet bare, Peter, bearded and strong, his arm around Edmund’s shoulders.

 

It takes him a year to finish, a month of which is spent trying to mix the silver of Lucy’s and Edmund’s crowns, but it’s all worth it when he ushers his cousins to his room, and shows them. Lucy jumps into his arms, laughing, while Peter hugs him, Edmund runs his hands over the lamp post Eustace has painted into the background and Susan thanks him, in a voice as small as he felt on the Dawn Treader, surrounded by Talking Beasts and Narnians.


End file.
